


The Rogues' Gallery

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Series: ColdFlash Challenge [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Books, First Kiss, M/M, Magic, Sorcerers, Warlocks, Witches, but with all the thieving attached, if Barry's gonna stop Savitar he's gonna do it the Gay Way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-03 01:14:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10956630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: [Coldflashchallenge W1D1: Witches/Warlocks]In Central City, there is a house of stolen books. Its location always changes when the sun rises, and if the owner doesn’t like you, you can never quite remember what it looked like or why you were there.Barry has always been able to find The Rogues’ Gallery.





	The Rogues' Gallery

In Central City, there is a house of stolen books. Its location always changes when the sun rises, and if the owner doesn’t like you, you can never quite remember what it looked like or why you were there.

Barry has always been able to find The Rogues’ Gallery. He never forgets the pointed arches of the door and stone walls, the mahogany paneling, or the spiral staircase in the center leading up to floors that shouldn’t be there. He remembers the blue velvet curtains in the back with its _ROGUES ONLY_ sign chained in front, and how it disappears for the owner, his employees, and occasionally himself. But most of all, he remembers the books.

A mish-mash rainbow of all different shades, ages, and sizes litter every wall. Scattered throughout the floors are more shelves, standing like proud clothes racks. The books are organized by the places or people they were stolen from, and each Rogue earned their own floor if they snatched enough tomes. The first floor is made of what the Rogues have stolen together, and is by far the largest. All kinds of books reside there, magical and nonmagical, and their combined smell can have a nasty right hook if you’re not prepared.

It’s the top floor that draws Barry tonight. Central City’s nightlife has come out to play, so nobody looks twice as he lands his broom with unrivaled speed. This time, the Gallery presents itself as a one-story dry cleaner’s, inconspicuous but for the blue door and its pointed arch.

It opens before Barry can so much as hop off.

“You’re perpetuating stereotypes, Barry,” Leonard Snart says with his usual sharp nasal, “Bad enough people can’t distinguish a sorcerer from a witch.”

Barry smiles sheepishly. “It’s a family heirloom, Snart.”

Snart adjusts his opaquely framed glasses. “If I had a nickel for every time I heard that. What do you want?”

Barry sets his broom on his shoulder. “I need a book on pausing time.”

Snart’s eyebrows rise to his widow’s peak. “Changing the past gettin’ too boring for you?”

Barry’s smile has vanished, replaced by a thin line of tension. “If I don’t at least have a backup plan, Iris will die.”

Snart leans against the doorframe. “My, my, my. The fast-flyer isn’t fast enough to stop death. And I thought I’d seen everything.”

“Snart, you and your Rogues have way more magic in your Gallery than anyone on the planet.”

“You’ll be turnin’ my head with flattery.”

“I’m serious. If anyone’s gonna have a book on time spells, it’s you.” Barry’s fingers clench around his broomstick. “Please. I need your help.”

A slow smirk grazes Snart’s face. “Well. Who am I to turn down such pretty words?” Before Barry can perk up, he holds up a finger. “But while I’m pleasantly surprised by your attempts to actually thinks something through, all magic comes with a price. Disrupting time has already cost you dearly.”

“You have something, though, right?”

Snart tilts his head, eyes flicking over his shoulder. “I do have _one_ book that could help. I nabbed it from the Time Masters’ wellspring.”

“Then I’ll pay it, whatever it is.”

“Careful, Barry. Words have power. You should know.” Snart pushes off the door. “Step into my office.”

 

The Rogues shoot Barry suspicious looks on every floor. For once, Barry ignores them, focusing instead on the sweeping back of Snart’s black coat. He’s got lots of coats and parkas, one for every occasion. Tonight, he’s wearing the one with pointed lapels, like some evil mastermind from a cartoon.

They reach the top floor. Snart’s floor. It’s bedecked in rich blues and a snowstorm for a ceiling, with rich dark woods for the bookshelves. In the very back, there is a compartment Barry’s never seen before: a diamond pane door made of iron, runes, and string.

Snart runs his fingers over the string. It’s pure white. “Laid out to catch winter’s first breath. Ices prisoners in its tracks.”

“Prisoners?” Barry says.

Snart smirks. He double taps the glass.

Blue light explodes inside, but the case holds. Chains rattle violently, accompanied by wild banging.

“What is that?” Barry hisses.

Snart closes the distance between them. “That is what you’re looking for. The Book of Oculus. My—especial favorite.”

Barry can’t help looking past him. The light continues to writhe. “How did you get it in there?”

Snart’s eyes suddenly look incredibly old. “I got my ways, kid.” Then he crosses his arms and the look is gone. “I can get it out and cooperative, especially if I’ve got lightning magic close by.”

Barry heads for the cage. “Then let’s get it out.”

Snart steps in front of him. “Not so fast, Flash. You want access to that book, you have to give me something first.”

Barry huffs. “What do you want, Snart?”

“Many things. But I’ll settle for some of your lightning.”

Barry freezes. “What could you possibly want with my lightning?”

The mischief in Snart’s eye is far from reassuring. “There’s a spell I’m aimin’ to cast next full moon, and while I have contingencies, your magic and mine would do _wonders_.”

“What spell?”

“Relax. First rule of the Craft: harm none.”

“Since when do you take that seriously?”

“I’m still a warlock, ain’t I? Don’t worry your little red boots about it. Nobody’s gonna die.”

“Coming from you,” Barry says, “that’s a cold comfort.”

Snart grins. “Gotta keep the theme. You know how it is, lightning boy.”

A returning smile comes unbidden. “I need to know the spell you’re using.”

“You also need that book. Which is more important to you? Iris’ life, or a spell I cast?”

Barry sobers. “Fine. How do we do it?”

Snart smugly appraises him. He holds out his hands.

Barry raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Afraid of a little chill?”

Another smile peeks out. Barry takes his hands.

Snart maneuvers them so their hands are vertical, fingers clasped. “Manifest your magic. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Barry closes his eyes. The world’s frequencies open to him—a million, billion, trillion crackling currents to focus on. It had taken months to train his concentration, though it would have taken years if Thawne hadn’t changed the timeline. But he can’t think about him, or the lights in the Gallery might blow out.

While Barry usually thinks of Iris’ smile, what comes through is the cold of Snart’s hands. They’re unrelentingly freezing even in the summer heat—which explains the man’s wardrobe—and it makes them a solid presence in the midst of countless volts. Once he notices, he can’t stop, and neither can his magic.

“Oo,” Snart’s voice hums, “tingles.”

Barry opens his eyes, knowing they’re jolting with his lightning. “Is that enough?”

Snart smiles. “Not quite. Perhaps a more—direct conduit will suffice.”

His lips are somehow colder than his hands. Barry shivers. He knows he should do something about this, but the fact is Snart’s cold feels _amazing._ It grinds his fickle lightning to a controlled halt, and although that should feel like a sledgehammer, it’s a balm Barry didn’t know he needed. Like all the chaos and hurt of the last however-long is soothed under a coat of snow—not gone completely, but enough that Barry can actually pause and breathe.

Snart tongues open his mouth easily enough. Barry’s lightning goes willingly, though it’s only a few strikes before the pull fades. Just like that, they’re done.

Barry keeps kissing him. He’s not sure, but he might be making some embarrassing noises. He’s definitely cupping Snart’s face, and those cold hands are at his hips. He’s never experienced a true conjoining of opposite magics. Isn’t it supposed to be painful? Aggressive? They’re getting into it, yeah, but the competition is geared towards something lighter—the teasing kind of fun cat and mouse they annoy each other with all the time.

It’s. It’s really nice.

When Snart finally breaks away, they’re both panting with bruised lips.

Snart certainly looks like the cat got the mouse on this one. “ _Well_ now. I was right.”

Barry has to swallow twice before his voice works again. “About what?”

“You do have a bad side.”

Barry scoffs. “You got what you need?”

“And then some.” Snart nips his bottom lip. “Now then. You have a pretty woman to save.”

“I mean—we’re not an official thing,” Barry says, “y’know, she’s got Eddie, and—and stuff.”

Snart’s eyes spark. “Good to know.”


End file.
